We Provide
by writerdragonfly
Summary: Len becomes the mastermind behind a crew of thieves playing Robin Hood. Coldflash Leverage AU.
1. Prologue

It's like this. One day, Leo wakes up and realizes that nothing about his home life is going to change. It's just not, and that's a fact he needs to face. Nothing about his life is going to change unless he gets the hell out of Dodge.

He only has one real regret about that, and that's Lisa.

But he isn't stupid. He's seventeen years old and all his dad's friends think he's a compulsive liar who's upset that his mom left.

Lisa... Lisa is younger. She's barely ten and he can't take care of her and himself on the run. It just won't work. It's too dangerous-not for him, but for her. And he can't be the reason she's hurt, he just can't.

He leaves the house that night as his dad's on shift, kisses Lisa good night and promises her that one day he'll be back for her. She sleepily nods and clings a little tighter than usual when she hugs him, and that's that.

Except, it isn't.

See, Leo comes back five years and a few new aliases later, and Lisa remembers him-of course she does, it's _Lisa_ -but she refuses to go with him.

"Look Leo, I want to. I really do. I need to get out of here. But you don't get it."

And he doesn't. He's spent years-sometimes on the wrong side of the law, even though he doesn't like it because he's not his dad-years getting ready for this. He has a place for her, a life for her. A chance for her to get out of this and _live_.

He doesn't until he hears the noise coming from his old bedroom and Lisa doesn't hesitate to open his door to show him.

They have a little brother. He's five years old. His mother was probably pregnant when he left.

Leo looks at Lisa and she nods, and they know what this is going to do. How could they not?

Leo made a choice once, to get out of here. He made a choice and a promise to come back for Lisa, to make it possible for her to get out of here.

But it's not just her anymore. He can't leave their brother behind, and he can't take them both.

"Leo, I'll be okay. Give me a few years and I'll get the hell out of here on my own. I can handle the bastard."

"Make it good, Lise," Leo tells her before he leaves that night. Make it good, he says.

And they both know what it means.

That night he breaks the worst law he's ever broken, covers his tracks the best he can. He does his best to disappear from the pits of Central City, with no intention of ever coming back.

He can't.

Leonard Snart disappears that night with no intention of ever returning. No one even knows he was there. Lisa made it good. Lisa made it good and he knows she suffered for it.

He sees her a few weeks later, her face plastered all over the nation in a TV spot as she cries with their father at her side in his dress blues looking stony faced.

Little Michael looks up at the news with confusion on his face and asks him why Lissy is crying and it's all he is not to break.

Because Leonard Snart is dead for all intents and purposes. Leonard Snart is dead and Michael Snart is plastered on the news as a kidnapping victim _presumed dead_ , and there are no leads because Lisa made it _good_ , and the break in her arm was probably punishment for letting someone take Michael that they played off as part of whatever story she spun.

But he'd had to make a choice, and they both knew that the moment he snuck back into their childhood home.

It's like this. Leonard and Lisa always had each other, from the moment she was born. Lisa always knew he was going to come back for her.

They had each other in that hellhole, and that's how they survived.

And Michael never would have without one of them.

"You need to take Mikey, Leo. You need to take him and make sure he never knows what he's missing here."

And so he did.

-x-

"Hey, Len!" his brother says one day, eighteen years later when he walks into his office at STARlabs Insurance.

Len looks up with a wide smile, stops typing up his report on the retrieval of the Kahndaq Dynasty Diamond.

"Ronnie!"

-x-

Except, it's not the end of the story, when Ronnie Raymond walks into his brother's office at STARlabs. It's not the end of the story, six months later when Merlin "Len" Raymond helps his brother's fiancee Caitlin plan the funeral.

It's not the end of the story two years later when Len is sitting drunk in a bar and Wade Eiling of Goldfinger Aerospace buys him a drink and throws him the bait to pull one over on his former employer with a band of thieves while doing the "right thing".

No, that's just the beginning.


	2. The Rogues Gather, Part 1

Len is good at his job. This is a fact.

This... _was_... a fact.

He'd liked it since the beginning, liked chasing down stolen art and other insured items, liked solving cases.

He liked doing the work of a specialized cop without actually being one.

He never could have been one.

Despite the respect he held for cops, _in general_ , he'd never aspired to be one. He just couldn't imagine himself wrapped in police blues doing _anything._

Too many nights flinching back from his father's strikes, he'd guess.

Maybe.

In any case, he liked puzzles. He liked deciphering what happened, taking apart the steps and seeing them all play out in reverse, then forward. He liked the chase too.

But-and he would stress this to himself every night-he could never truly break it.

There was too much _chance_ there.

He couldn't risk Ronnie.

He couldn't risk losing Ronnie.

He supposes, in the end, he couldn't _handle_ losing Ronnie.

-x-

In the beginning, raising his brother had been hard. Making the switch from Michael to Ronnie-that was hard too. But he'd worn down the bright young boy eventually, gotten him to agree to go by Ronnie, which had been his own choice of name, mind you.

But they'd had to compromise.

If Ronnie had a different name, then so would he.

And Ronnie picked it, which was how they became Merlin and Ronnie Raymond.

It could have been worse, and he'd already been trying to move on from Leo to Len anyway.

Raising Ronnie had been hard, but Len thought it was worth it.

His brother didn't have to grow up scared and angry and distrustful. He could grow up and be whatever he wanted.

And Ronnie proved to be a brilliant man in his own right.

-x-

"Mr. Raymond. I know who you are. I've read all about you," a man says as he slides onto the empty stool beside him. Len looks up from the amber liquid in his glass and takes the man in. Former military, though he's grown his hair out into silver curls. Blue eyes under glasses he's not quite used to yet.

Ill-fitting suit, too.

Him being in the bar can't be a coincidence.

"I know, for example, that when you found that stolen Monet painting in Florence, you probably saved your insurance company what, twenty, twenty-five million dollars? Then there was the identity theft thing when you saved your insurance company I don't even know how many millions of dollars..."

A fanboy. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"But I just, uh, know that when you needed them... what happened to your brother is the kind of thing..."

Len very nearly slams his glass against the bar, "You know this, the part of the conversation where I punch you in the neck nine or ten times, we're coming up on that pretty quick."

"I just want to offer you a job."

"What do you got?"

"Do you know anything about airplane design?"

"Yeah, I could give it a shot. You can give me a pencil and one of those little rulers," Len says, the hint of a smirk on the edge of his lips.

The man's face flashes angry for just a moment, "Somebody _stole_ my airplane designs."

"Oh, I see, and you'd like me to find them, right?" Really, Len wishes this surprised him. Truly.

"No, I know where they are. I want you... to steal them back."

 _What?_

-x-

"You're sure this San Souci stole your designs, Mr. Eiling?" Len asks as he examines the photograph before setting it down on the blue folder in front of him.

"Look, my engineer goes missing. Disappears with all my files. Then one week later, Plastique Aviation announces an identical project? Come on."

"I don't know. Stealing them back, it seems like a stupid risk. There's other ways that you can-" Len's interrupted by the former general.

"Listen, listen. At the end of this month, I have a shareholder's meeting. I've spent, already, five years and $100 million in R&D, and I go to that meeting with nothing to show for it? Then I am dead."

He sighs.

"Look, these are the people I've already hired. I mean, do you recognize any of these names?"

Len pages through the folder that Eiling puts in front of him.

 _Barry Allen, thief. Cisco Ramon, hacker._

"Yeah, I've chased all of them one time or anot-Mick, you have Mick?"

 _Mick Rory, hitter._

"Is there somebody better?"

"No, but Mick is insane."

"Which is why I need you."

Len laughs, shakes his head, "No. I'm not a thief." _Anymore,_ Len's mind provides. Because before Ronnie... he had been.

"No, thieves I've got. What I need is one honest man to watch them."

"It's not going to work. These people you've hired, they all have the same rep. They work alone, they always work alone, there's no exceptions. And there's no way they're going to work for you."

"For $300,000 each, they will."

And for you, running it? It's double that. Off the books, completely off the books. Look at me, I'm desperate here. But that's just the salary. There is a bonus. Plastique is insured by STARlabs... your old bosses. It's a $50 million intellectual property rights policy."

Len is definitely listening now.

"Mr. Raymond, how badly do you want to screw the insurance company that let your brother die?"

-x-

"Okay, clear comms," Len says evenly as he looks down at the computer in front of him.

"No, no. Did this equipment come out of the 80s? I've got something nicer," Ramon groans over the comms.

"All right, no surprises now."

"I've been doing this since high school, _Captain Cold_. It's a bone-conduction earpiece mike. Works off the vibrations in your jaw," Ramon replies. There's a brief flicker of static and then, much cleaner and more clearly, "You can hear everything."

"You're not as useless as you look," Mick grunts over the comms a half second later, and well... Len can admit to himself he's impressed.

"I don't even know what you do," Ramon's reply makes Len picture him rolling his eyes.

"Can I have one?" And there's Allen's voice.

-x-

"Last time I used this rig... Paris, 2003." Allen says, and Len looks up again at that-not that he can see Allen from here.

"Is he talking about the Caravaggio? You stole that?"

He's... _impressed_.

But, they have a job to do. Back to it.

"Guys, listen up. We're gonna go on my count, not a second sooner. No freelancing." Len tells them, his voice even.

"Relax, we know what we're doing," Mick grunts. Len supposes that's true.

"On the count of five..."

"Aww, he doesn't want to be our pal..." Ramon interjects, a hint of amusement in his tone. Len doesn't make a noise at that, but he really wants to.

"We're on the count. Five, four, three..."

"He's gone." Mick interrupts, and Len immediately knows.

Allen's not exactly known for his patience or lack of enthusiasm.

The excited noise that comes over the comms a half second later proves he's right.

"Son of a..." Len mutters, because he's got this timed out and Allen jumping early? Not exactly part of the plan.

But, Len supposes, they're not exactly used to teamwork, are they?

He looks out the window with his binoculars, sees Allen's rapid descent down the side of the building. Until he's precisely where he's supposed to be.

Len might smile, just a little.

It's not like there's any one there to see it.


	3. The Rogues Gather, Part 2

Len waits as his team infiltrates the building, the lot of them silent as they work. This part is easy, getting in. Staying undetected as they move through the building, getting the data and getting out clean-that's the hard part. That's where everyone he caught usually got stuck, regardless of how talented they were.

"You know, Allen, any time you want to-" Mick growls over the comms, interrupted by a grunt that could only have come from Mick himself.

"Heatwave and the Vibe are on the way," Ramon updates, stopping when Mick mumbles something unintelligible before continuing, "What? It fits, you're like a furnace in here."

"What about security, you see security?" Len cuts in over their odd flirtation. Not that he thinks they're _actually_ flirting, but what else is he going to call it? Squabbling?

"They don't see a thing," Allen says, and Len can hear the glee in his voice at that.

"Door's open," Allen says a minute later.

Bickering, bickering would have been a much better word. He shakes his head, "All right guys, it's showtime. Here we go."

He waits a minute, counts out the seconds in his head, and then speaks again after he looks at his screen, "Okay, you got any chatter on their frequencies?"

"No, why?" Allen asks.

"There's eight listed on the duty roster, and there's only four at the guard post."

"I can't even tell how many guys are in the room, how can you tell who's who?"

"Haircuts, Allen, count the haircuts."

"I would have missed that," Allen replies, quiet.

Len's not sure if he realizes he's spoken out loud, "What?"

"Nothing!" Allen says, his voice a little louder than usual.

"There a problem?" Mick asks, picking up on something. Belatedly, perhaps. Len doesn't know.

"Maybe. Run the cameras."

"Ten digit password? I salute you, sir," Ramon says, obviously thinking aloud.

"Got 'em. They're doing their walk through an hour early, why the fu-" Allen announces. Len looks down at his screen. One of the channels in the security office is tuned to a basketball game.

"Because it's the playoffs. Game five. They're doing their rounds an hour early to watch it." If Len actually cared for basketball, he might be impressed. Maybe. "Where are they?"

"They're at the stairwell," Allen says, a hint of panic in his voice.

-x-

Len takes charge, because that's what he was hired to do. He tells Mick to squelch them, to use Ramon as bait. It's quiet for several minutes, excepting the occasional grunt and groan from Mick's comms, and then it's totally silent again.

"That's what I do," Mick says gruffly.

"Updates. I don't know what's going on, I don't have eyes on you."

"All good, stripping the drives right now." Ramon says, laughing a little excitedly, "Got all the designs, got all the backups. We're leaving this cupboard bare."

"Drop the spike," Len says, relaxing a little.

"Didja give 'em a virus?" Mick asks.

"Dude, I have them more than one virus," Ramon laughs.

"Problem!" Allen's voice cuts through, "Those guards you ganked? They reset all the alarms on the roof and all the floors above us. We can't go up."

"Every man for himself," Mick says, and Len isn't in the least bit surprised.

"Go ahead, I'm the one with the merchandise," Ramon retorts.

Len's about to say something himself when Allen starts talking again, "Yeah, well I'm the one with an exit."

He takes the queue from Allen, "And I'm the one with a plan." Because he is, he wouldn't be without backup plans. It's not in him to forget contingencies. Not for a long time, his father made _damn_ sure of that.

"I know you _children_ don't play well with others but I need you to hold it together for exactly seven more minutes. Now get to the elevator and head down. We're going to the burn scam."

"Going to Plan B." Ramon states, and Len hopes they're actually following through already and not standing around like idiots.

He's gathering his equipment as he responds, "Technically, that would be Plan G."

"How many plans do we have? Is there, like, a Plan M?" Ramon asks.

"Yeah. Ramon dies in Plan M," Len says, annoyed.

"I like Plan M," Mick says, and Len wonders if he and Mick would get along better than he thought.

-x-

Plan G is a success. Plan G is a success and Len takes them away from the building with a squeal of tires on pavement.

They end up in a park a few miles away, where Ramon pulls out a laptop and starts to do something that Len doesn't care enough to figure out with it in order to send the designs to Eiling.

"Hurry up, it's only taking you all night. Come _on,"_ Len snaps, impatiently. He wants to get out of here, separate himself from them. He wants to drink, if he's being honest with himself.

"I got a couple wi-fi networks with some crappy bandwidth, hold on. Oh, oh, there we go. The designs are sent."

"The money will be in all your accounts later today," Len tells them.

"Anyone else notice how hard we rocked last night?" Ramon asks, and Len suppresses a sigh.

"Yeah, well. One show only, no encores," Mick replies.

"I already forgot your names," Allen lies, though Len wouldn't be surprised if the other two believe him.

"It was kind of cool being on the same side," Ramon admits.

"No, we are not on the same side, I am not a thief," Len retorts. He's _not._ This is a one time fuck you to STARlabs, not a downward spiral into becoming anything like Lewis Snart.

He hasn't been a thief in eighteen years, and that was never anything more than a necessity. These people though, they _like_ doing this. Crave it.

He doesn't.

And this was all a mistake anyway, because he's too proud to back out on a promise and he was too drunk to realize what he was doing when that man offered him revenge on a platter.

He's not his father, damn it. He's _not._

"You are now. Come on, Merlin, tell the truth. Didn't you have a little bit of fun playing the Black King instead of the White Knight? Just this once?" Allen asks with a wide smile.

Instead of answering, Len turns and walks away.

What could he say anyway?


	4. Double Cross

_**Author's Note:** Two things! One, the POV changes here. And two, Len is referred to as Merlin for most of this chapter and the next. Never fear, though! It doesn't stay that way._

* * *

"You screwed me!" Barry flinches back from his cell phone, blinking blearily awake.

"What?"

"The designs never got to me," Eiling growls on the other end.

Barry doesn't know what's going on, but he does know he doesn't like it. "I did my part."

Because he had, and had even had fun doing it. It'd been _years_ since being in this line of work wasn't.

"I'm freezing the payments, I am freezing _all_ the payments," Eiling says and Barry is _pissed_. He already had someone lined up with that money, damn it.

-x-

He's a little hesitant to meet Eiling. It's not that he doesn't want, need the money. But, he's not unaware of the dangers of doing business. Too many close calls, probably.

He's not stupid. Taking the job in the first place was probably a mistake waiting to happen. Too many egos in one temporary partnership. And he's not so self-involved that he doesn't recognize that a great deal of his agreement had to do with not wanting to be alone anymore.

Not that he's going to tell that to _anyone_ , especially Iris.

Which, yeah. He thinks he probably should have called her before he left. So someone would be looking for him, if nothing else.

But, maybe not.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and keeps walking.

The gun is cold where it brushes against his fingers.

He's not stupid enough to head in without some way to protect himself. He's fast, but not _that_ fast.

Merlin, Ramon, and Mick are talking in the middle of the warehouse when he slips inside. He doesn't know what about, but he can guess.

Merlin Raymond has a gun in his hands, after all.

There's a part of him that wants to just back out, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to shoot anyone, but if it comes down to them or him? He's not entirely sure he won't.

"My money's not in my account," Barry says as he cocks the gun and aims it at them.

Merlin spins and puts the gun on him immediately, and Barry would be lying if he didn't admit to himself that something about Merlin Raymond with a gun in his hand is _hot_.

"That makes me cry inside. In my special... angry place," Barry finishes as he reaches the three of them, well aware of how awkward he sounds.

There's a reason he usually doesn't talk.

"Okay, Allen," Merlin says, and then he's taking the gun from him.

Which, okay, Barry should have expected that. Expected one of them to do _something_ , anyway.

"Now, would you come here to get paid?" Merlin asks, and it occurs to Barry that there's probably something weird about the fact that he's calling him by his first name in his head instead of Raymond.

Though, he has to admit that the guy just does _not_ look like a Raymond.

"No, transfer of funds, dude. Global economy," Ramon pipes up.

"Supposed to be a walkaway. Never supposed to see you again," Mick says when Merlin turns his eyes on him.

"And the only reason you guys are here is because you didn't get paid... and you're pissed off, right?" Merlin asks, his lips slowly shifting into a smirk, "I mean, matter of fact, the only way to get us all in the same place at the same time is to tell us that... we're... not... getting... paid."

Merlin's smirk drops and Barry's stomach drops with it.

It's a trap, and now they all know it.

 _Fuck_.

They all bolt for an exit in the same second, and Barry's glad for his speed when they do.

They barely make it outside when the explosion hits, and then his vision goes dark.

-x-

When he wakes up, there's an EMT with a smudge of soot on his face leaning over him with an oxygen mask and a cop standing behind him.

His head kills, but he's alive. The rest... can wait.

-x-

It takes approximately twenty seconds alone in a room with Ramon for Barry to get the offer to call him Cisco. He does, but mostly because it sounds better than Ramon.

-x-

"Local cops responded to the explosion," Cisco says as he waves a hand at the cuffs keeping him on his bed. Barry looks away.

"Have we been processed?" Merlin asks from the other room.

"They faxed our prints to the state police," Mick answers, though his voice is still harder to hear.

"If the staties run us, we're screwed," Cisco says, bringing Barry's attention back towards him.

"How long?" Barry asks him.

"Thirty, thirty five minutes depending on the software."

"They printed us twenty minutes ago," Mick growls, "so unless we get out of here in the next ten minutes, we all go to jail."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay," Merlin replies.

"I can take these cops," Mick offers.

"Don't you dare. You kill anyone, you screw up my getaway," Barry snaps back. It's true, of course, but mostly Barry hates the idea of anyone getting killed, even if it gets him out of trouble.

"Allen, get me a phone," Merlin says over Cisco's whining, "what we're going to do is we're going to get out of here together."

"This was a one time deal," Mick complains.

Barry ignores him to continue listening to Merlin, "Look, here's your problem. You all know what you can do. I know what _all_ you can do, so that gives me the edge, gives me the plan."

"I don't trust these guys," Barry admits out loud. Cisco shoots him a slightly wounded look, but really, what was the guy expecting?

"Do you trust me?" Merlin asks.

Mick's the one who answers that question, "Of course, you're an honest man."

Barry thinks it's supposed to be a sarcastic lie, but it doesn't feel like one.

"Allen, phone."

"This is going to suck," Barry murmurs.

-x-

The distraction works, even though Barry's mouth tastes like vomit on top of his headache. He sits up as soon as the cops leave the room, lifting the nurse's smartphone in the air as he does it. Cisco lifts his hand up too. A second cell phone. They trade-the smartphone will do more damage in Cisco's hands. He's the hacker.

"Merlin," Barry whispers into the grate as he pulls the the metal plate off. He slides the phone through, waits for Merlin to take it on the other side.

"They're expecting a phone call, right?" Merlin asks.


	5. Piping Hot Revenge

"Four first class tickets to anywhere but here, coming up." Cisco says as they walk into an expansive open apartment.

"Who's place is this?" Barry asks, taking it all in.

"It's mine," Cisco admits.

"I'm gonna beat Eiling so bad even people who look like him are gonna bleed," Mick promises.

Barry scoffs, "You won't get within a hundred yards. He knows your face. Knows all our faces."

"He tried to kill us," Mick replies, as if Barry has somehow forgotten in the last hour. Which he _hasn't_.

"Hey, head's up. Eiling's story is 90% true. He is the head of Goldfinger Aerospace, big rival to Plastique, but check out what my little web crawlers coughed up," Cisco interrupts, playing a video.

Bette San Souci is speaking to someone with CNN, _Plastique Aviation_ scrawled across the banner at the bottom of the screen, "We've lost research that we've been working on for over five years. Our servers have been sabotaged. My company and I are going to pursue these perpetrators to the full extent of the law with all the resources we have at our disposal."

"Could be a cover story," Merlin says, but Cisco is quick to speak up again.

"Here's the log of last night's rip. Internal time stamps on the project, 2008, 2009-they're way, way down in the code. There's no reason to fake those, man."

"So we didn't steal the plans back?" Mick asks.

Barry leans against a column, crossing his arms over each other. "No, we were just stealing them."

"Why would Eiling lie to us?" Cisco turns to Merlin to ask.

And Merlin answers, "Because you're thieves. If he hired you for a straight up crime, you would know he was a bad guy like you. You would be suspicious. This way, he looks like another citizen in over his head, and that's why you didn't see the double cross coming."

"Then why didn't _you_ see it coming?" Barry asks him.

"Because I'm not a thief." Merlin _states_ it, just says it like he _didn't_ just help them commit not only one crime but _two._

Mick lurches forward, "You know what, maybe that's the problem, maybe if you-"

"Hey, hey. Look, tickets to London, Rome, Paris, and Sao Paolo," Cisco interrupts, shoving a printed ticket into Mick's hands before he can reach Merlin and probably punch him, "All matching the IDs you guys gave me."

"You're running." Merlin states, like it's not obvious. They just got fucked over by an old man pretending to be down on his luck, what else is there?

"Yeah, you gotta better idea?" Mick replies.

"No, no. You're. Running. Now, that was a high risk play," Merlin says, but he's looking at Eiling's photo on the Goldfinger Aerospace website, not at Mick, "You got your balls tied to the stock price like a cinder block. Shareholder meeting coming up. We can't let this guy have any time to cool down.

"You wanna run a game on this guy? _You?_ " Cisco asks, and Barry thinks he agrees. Merlin is smart, yeah, but he keeps saying he's not a thief.

"Yeah, how do you think I got most of my stolen merchandise back? This guy, he's greedy, thinks he's smart. He's the best kind of mark," Merlin answers.

Barry looks around the room, thinking.

"He does think he got rid of us," Barry says, and he notices Cisco's smile.

"Element of surprise," Cisco says.

"What's in it for me?" Mick asks Merlin.

"Payback. And if it goes right, a lot of money."

"I'm in," Barry says, smiling.

"Cisco?" Merlin asks the last of them.

Cisco grins again, "I was just gonna send a thousand porno magazines to his office, but hell yeah, let's do this."

There's silence for a minute, and then Mick asks Merlin a question, "What's in it for you?"

Merlin takes a minute, and there's a far off look in his face. "He used my brother," he finally says, and the tense moment breaks.

"Let's go get Iris," Merlin says a beat later, starting to walk away, "and call me Len."

"What the hell's an iris?" Mick asks, before following them out.

-x-

It takes Barry most of the twenty minute ride to realize that Len knows _his_ Iris.

-x-

Iris is as beautiful as ever when she steps into the dark alley, her press badge swinging from her neck as she searches in her purse for something.

"No, I vote no. She's a reporter," Mick grumbles. Normally Barry would probably agree with that but... it's _Iris._ He doesn't think Iris counts as just another anything.

"Allen's right. Eiling knows us. We need a fresh face."

"I'm just a citizen now, honest." Iris says as soon as she sees Len standing there in the light. It's a lie, of course. Barry _knows_ it is, because she helped him with something two months ago.

"I'm not," Len says.

And Barry's impressed. Because that's not what Len was saying an hour ago _at all_.

"You're playing the other side?" Iris asks, surprised. Len shrugs a little, and then Iris sees him.

"Barry?"

"You know Iris?" Len asks, turning to face Barry with a hint of surprise on his face.

"Are you in, Iris?" Barry asks her instead.

She watches him for a minute, and Barry _knows_ he's going to hear it later. "Anything for my brother."

"Your..." Len trails off, looking at Barry again.

"What?" Mick says, and then Cisco cuts him off.

"Brother?"

Barry just smiles.


	6. A Plan in Motion

"Wade Eiling, Executive Vice President in charge of new technology development at Goldfinger Aerospace. Rich parents, trust fund, former major general in the US Army. Blah, blah, blah," Cisco says as he clicks through the powerpoint on the screen.

"Wade. When was the last time you met a Wade?" Len asks from his seat next to Barry.

He snorts a little into his beer, "Vietnam. Town called Ban Houei Xai."

That Wade had been a tiny little thing, bright green eyes and a wicked smile. Almost stayed for that smile. Hmmm.

"Chinese border?" Iris West asks, looking at him in surprise.

He raises an eyebrow at her and leans into the couch as he watches her, "That's an odd thing for you to know."

"Reporter, remember?" the woman replies, "But that's an odd place for you to be."

"Now Goldfinger is in charge of all the big fat government contracts. Some Department of Defense research, very classified stuff," Cisco interrupts them, and he lets himself be pulled back in.

"Can we use that?" Barry asks as he digs back into his box of pad thai.

"No, I don't think so. Eiling is in charge of their commercial airline business," Cisco answers, waving the remote a little as he speaks.

His hands are a little distracting.

"I know when you sent Eiling's designs, you weren't supposed to make any copies," Len says and it's enough to pull Mick's eyes away from Cisco.

Not that he thinks anyone _noticed_ where he was looking.

God, he needs to get laid. Or burn something. It's been too long.

"No, I promise. That would be wrong," Cisco says with a smirk.

"Show me your copies," Len says and Cisco _laughs_.

He knows he's watching the kid again but he can't seem to help it.

He's annoying as fuck but he's also funny. And well, attractive.

Damn it.

He turns back to the screen. Better.

"It's an airplane," he says, his voice a little rough.

"It's a short-haul domestic airliner. Usually one-hour flights. It's the fastest growing segment of the industry. Very fuel efficient, high tech. Very nice carbon nose. It's got the titanium wrap, three to one," Len says, stopping for a moment when he finally realizes everyone is staring at him, "You know, you pick up things here and there."

" _You_ pick up a lot of stuff," Cisco says, with a raised eyebrow.

Barry just chuffs out a laugh at Cisco's remark, a faint blush across his face when he realizes how high pitched it came out.

"And check this out-now Eiling and San Souci, they were head to head for five years trying to grab the lead in an industry that's worth like, eleventy billion dollars," Cisco says, and Mick doesn't think he's ever been so distracted by someone's fucking hands before.

"So, San Souci got there first, Eiling took the shortcut," Barry says, distracting Mick again. _Thank fuck._

"So he's got a rival. He's got a rival that pisses him off so much that he hired us to steal her designs-this is good."

"What are you thinking, Len?" Iris asks.

"I'm thinking Nigerians. Yes, Nigerians will do nicely," Len answers, walking off.

Mick turns to face Iris at the same time as the rest of them.

She taps her pen on her notebook, "Well. He hasn't changed a bit."

-x-

"Somebody call I.T.?" Mick asks, stepping in front of Eiling's secretary. He feels itchy and uncomfortable dressed the way he is, and even the fake glasses make his head hurt.

But he's doing this, has to do this.

At least he knows _something_ about computers, enough to pull this off.

-x-

The secretary is cute. She's not his type, of course, but it's easy to flirt with her as he bangs around in her computer.

"Let me show you how to, uh, reconnect with the network," he tells her, winking at her from where he's crouched in front of her computer tower. Barry slips by her, totally unnoticed.

"Shouldn't I be playing the computer guy?" Cisco asks over the comms, and Mick nearly replies to him before he remembers his place.

 _Not the time_.

"No, I actually want you to _be_ the computer guy," Len answers Cisco.

Mick has to resist a snort. Smartass.

"All right, reboot," he tells the secretary, stopping to take the mouse back from her. She resists, so he puts his hand right over hers, covering it completely. He moves it, clicks a few more things, and releases her hand, "And there you go."

"Wow. You are strong for a computer guy," she flirts, unconsciously biting her lip a little. He takes his glasses off, faking a wide smile for her.

"Thank you," he says, pausing when she laughs, "I like to work out, I'm trying to stay big 'cause I like dressing up like a Klingon, going to conventions and all of that. Bak-a-lah!"

She starts a little at the sudden exclamation, but she's still smiling.

"Bak-a-lah!" she says back to him after a pause, lifting her hands as she does it.

"Oh, don't you tease me," Mick says in reply, winking at her.

"Oh, hold up, dude. That's... That's not cool, man. That is not cool," Cisco says to him over the comms, and Mick kind of hopes the man is pissed enough that he won't unconsciously flirt with him more when they're in the same room again.

But then Cisco finishes it up with, "we're gonna have a strong talk when you get back."

And Mick's back to thinking about doing dirty things with a hacker instead of playing up a flirtation with the cute secretary, damn it.

He's either going to kiss him or punch the guy when this job is over, he already fucking knows.


	7. Impression, Sunrise

_**Author's Note:**_

 _And here, we return to Len._

 _Also, this chapter makes me think of Matchbox 20's Unwell. I have no idea why._

* * *

"Hey, Len. Got all his financials off his hard drive, all his passwords." Cisco tells him, smirking up from where he sits in front of his three screens and computer.

"Good," Len tells him, because it is good. Very good.

He nods as he heads back to the pool table, but doesn't check to see if Cisco notices. It doesn't really matter either way.

"Your shot," Mick says as he hands him a beer. Len takes a drink-it's not his choice of alcohol but it does well enough-and sets it down on the edge of the table.

"Five, corner." He takes his shot, the cue ball clicking against the five ball and glancing off. The five thunks into the corner pocket.

"You look better..." Mick says, pausing to swallow a mouthful of beer, "better than when we started."

He feels better. Not much, not _enough_ but better all the same.

"Yeah," Len admits, because what's the point in denying that truth?

"And that bothers you," Mick says. It's not a question, it's a statement.

And it's true. It's true and he knows that of all the people in this apartment, Mick is the _only_ one truly qualified to know that.

Mick remembers the before, even if he lets them both pretend they didn't work together those few times two _decades_ ago, even if he's never acted like he knew Len during their occasional encounter on opposite sides in the time since.

"This isn't supposed to feel..." Len says, because what else is he supposed to say?

"Good? It's not that hard to figure out."

And it wouldn't be, not for Mick. Mick has always been one of the terrifying ones to hear of, not just because of his strength or willingness to do almost anything, but because he _sees_ things. Reads people. And he files them away and it's impossible to know what he knows about people until he brings it up again. It's never personal, things for Mick never are. Mick doesn't _do_ personal, not according to the records Len has read over the years.

He knows people by _what_ they are and what they _do_ , not who they are.

And Len has been on the side of angels since the night he walked out of his childhood home with a little boy, has _changed_ because of it.

Mick knows he's molded himself into something _good_ and here he is consciously doing something that's _not_ , even if it's _right_.

Len takes another swig of the expensive beer, wishes it was something stronger.

"Eiling screwed you. He cheated by stealing from that other company and your good guy brain sees him as the bad guy. Your conscience is clear," Mick says, and it's true, to an extent.

But it's not the whole thing, can't be. Mick _has_ to know that, has to _remember_ that.

"You want to take your shot?" Len asks, and he can hear the anger in his voice and knows that Mick must hear it to. Must _know_ Len is angry.

Even if he doesn't know all the reasons why.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Mick says.

And Len _hates_ that, hates hearing that, hates the whole fucking situation.

"You don't know anything about that."

"Everybody knows. Guy like you goes off the street, a lot of people notice. And it was a bad story too."

Len knows the meaning behind that, can't _not_ see it. Anyone else here saying that and Len would think nothing of it.

But before, all the way back then, when he turned to the skills his father drilled into him with lessons and pain, he had been on his way to being something on that side of the world, been making a name for himself even if he didn't _want_ to be.

So yeah, he thinks Mick means it when he says he's sorry, means it when he subtly compliments him, and he means it when he...

Mick interrupts his thoughts with another question, "How did they justify that? The insurance company, just not paying for his treatment?"

"They claimed it was experimental."

"Shoulda kept one of those Monets... you fence that-"

The fucking Monets. Their first job together, way back when. They'd found them in a storage room in the back of a jewelry store, hidden in a safe behind a false wall. He'd been expecting an extra cache of diamonds and they'd found some of those too, but no one outside the owner probably knew the paintings were even back there. Len had only found the false wall in the first place because he'd diligently studied the blueprints before they'd made their move on the store.

He'd talked Mick into dropping the pair of paintings off at a museum on their way out of town, which was no small feat in and of itself. Because they'd come for diamonds and he didn't have a fence for paintings and it seemed like a step too far back then anyway, to enter the world of art theft. Not that stealing _diamonds_ wasn't a big deal. And realistically, they both knew the paintings were probably already stolen anyway. It would be hard enough to fence them when they _weren't_ already hot.

"Mick, we're not friends," Len says, and he means it. He _can't_ be Mick's friend. Even with, perhaps especially _because_ they have a history that Len did his damnedest to remove the second he stepped out of his house with Ronnie in his arms.

"Right. Because you have so many of them," Mick grunts, shaking his head.

Mick walks away and Len just _watches_.

Len just watches and thinks about all the things he'd given up for Ronnie, and all the things he would do now to bring him back.


End file.
